


A Shift in Time

by DownWeGo5283



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark, Divergent Timelines, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Romantic Friendship, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters, Supportive Dean Winchester, Supportive Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-20 11:16:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16136114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DownWeGo5283/pseuds/DownWeGo5283
Summary: After a traumatic event on a hunt, Allison and her friendship with the Winchesters and her ability as a hunter are put to the test. She has to decide if she's ready to find the courage to begin healing.Triggering scene will be it's own chapter and have a prominent trigger warning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic I've ever published. I love feedback but please be kind.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Allison? Dean bellowed after they got in the car. “We had a plan! It was a simple plan, and all you had to do was fucking follow it! It was over, we had him right where we wanted him, but because of you, we had to chase the fucking shifter down and kill it!”  

Allison had given up on trying to rationalize with Dean when he was like this. Six months with them had taught her enough. She glanced in Sam’s direction, but he refused to look at her. Allison took several deep breaths to hold back her tears and her rage.

“Are you even listening?” Dean complained, looking into the backseat where she sat as still as possible.

“Yes,” she whispered, watching out the window, just like Sam.

The four-hour ride back home was a symphony of silent fury.  When Dean pulled into the garage, Allison jumped out as fast as she could, dashing inside the bunker they called home.

“We’re not done!” Dean called out after her.

Allison kept running until she made it to her room, locking the door behind her and throwing her backpack on the floor. She sat on her bed, up against the headboard as she listened to Dean’s heavy footsteps coming down the hall. As soon as he banged on her door, she drew her knees to her chest, praying the door lock would hold. Sam’s voice came a moment after. They argued until Dean’s stomping footfalls disappeared. Sam’s shadow remained under the door for a few moments before also disappearing.

She got up early hoping to avoid them. She showered fast and tiptoed to the kitchen. Sam and Dean were both sitting there in their usual form; Dean nursing a hangover and Sam on his laptop.

“Hey guys,” she said, hesitant.

“Hey, Allison,” Sam replied.

Nothing from Dean. She opened the fridge door for cold water. Spotting a few beers in front of the water bottles, she grabbed one popping the top off.

“I think there’s another case,” Sam said.

“That Allison’s not going on,” Dean grunted.

“This is what we do, Dean,” Allison asserted.

“This is what me and Sam do.”

Allison bit her tongue and ignored Dean’s jabs. “Sam, what’s the case?”

“Don’t know yet. It says here there have been several strange murders in one week in a town called Cloverton, Iowa. It’s barely a stop sign on the map, so it made the news.”

“I’ll be ready in 20,” she said after another generous gulp of beer.

 “No, you won’t,” Dean shot.

“Dean, I already said I’m sorry about last night,” she said in her best composure, “but shit happens. Can we move on and do our work?”

Dean stood up and faced Allison. “You nearly got us killed! Nearly got Sam killed! Allison, you’ve been a space case for the last two fucking months, and I let it go, thinking maybe it was some lingering brain damage from that case in Cleveland, but it’s gone too far. Get your head out of your ass and maybe – _maybe_ – you can work with us again when I decide you’re ready.”

Allison clenched her empty fist and set her shoulders back, drawing herself up to her full 5’3, and maybe a half an inch more out of spite. “You have got to be fucking kidding me! You aren’t commander around here, Dean! You—"

“Yes, I am,” he growled.

The sound of Allison’s beer bottle shattering against the concrete wall behind them made Sam jump out of his seat, laptop in hand. He looked between the two of them, alarmed.

“Come on—” Sam tried to interrupt.

“Are you crazy, Allison?” Dean screamed. “You want to throw a beer bottle at my head now because it’s your fault YOU fucked up a hunt?”

“Fuck you, Dean!” she roared, storming out of the kitchen.

“Wait,” Sam said, trying to stop her, knowing it was pointless.

Grabbing her things, Allison used her hunter’s stealth to make it outside the bunker to her car before either of the Winchesters could catch her. Cranking the stereo up with angry rock music, she picked a direction and started driving.

“South,” she said aloud. “If I just keep going, I can leave the country if I want to.” She yelled along to the angry music and thumped her fists on the steering wheel to the beat.

She thought of all the angry, mean things could say to Dean to get back at him. She thought of all the ways she could show him up. She was already going in the wrong direction to take the Iowa case out from under them, but what if there was another one she could solve on her own? Monsters she could kill without the help of the big, bad Winchesters? She snorted in derision at the thought of them. Well, one of them.

Then it seeped into her mind that she could hurt them with the truth. Instantly, the thought felt like it was closing in on her chest.  Dean could be a hard sonofabitch when it came to work, but he had a big heart and cared a lot about her, and she knew it. He’d never forgive himself if he knew. And Sam… she couldn't do that to Sam. Because she let her guard down once, because she couldn't defend herself against a monster like a hunter should, it would ruin everything.

“Goddammit, I’m supposed to be mad,” she mumbled, sniffling, “Dean’s the asshole, here,” she reassured herself as she pulled off onto the side of the road.

She checked her phone. Three missed calls from Sam. She cleared them from her screen and checked her location on the maps app. _Garth stays at the place in Tulsa a lot, maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll be there,_ she thought. She texted Garth, getting an immediate response with the address she asked for. Zooming in on her map of Tulsa, Sam’s fourth call popped up on the screen. Her thumb hovered over the Accept button before striking the Decline button instead. Dean pushed her over a dangerous edge he didn’t even know she was on. She hadn’t known how close until this morning.

The drive to Tulsa was a blur. Allison let the music clear her mind and allow her to daydream instead of think. Pulling onto the dirt road, she saw Garth’s gray and crimson station wagon parked in front of the old house. She took in what felt like the first real breath she’d had on the entire drive. She and Garth had been friends for over a decade and Garth had always been someone she could trust and talk to. She felt selfish for laying this on him, but he was her only friend right now. She parked and shut off her car, and hurried her way to his door, banging loudly.

“Garth! It’s Allison!” She called. She glanced around the property looking for signs of life when the door opened.

“Allison!” he said, scooping her up in a big hug as he always did.

“Hey, Garth Vader,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.

He smiled at the cheesy nickname she’d given him many years ago during a hunt. It was his own fault for quoting the Star Wars villain after beheading a vampire.

“What are you waiting for, come inside!” he said, nearly pushing her into his house.

Allison came face to face with a blonde woman about her own size.

“Hi,” the woman said.

“Oh, uh… I didn’t know…”

“Allison, this is my girl, Bess,” Garth beamed. “Bess, this is Allison.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you!” Bess smiled.

Allison shifted awkwardly. “I’m—I’m so sorry to barge in, if it’s a bad time, I can just—”

“Gosh, no! You’re always welcome, Allison!” Garth said, putting his arm around Bess.

“Uh…” Allison stammered, “thanks,” she forced herself to smile.

“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Sweet tea? Water?” Bess asked.

“Sweet tea, please,” Allison said with a chuckle.

“Allison here was raised in Louisiana,” Garth said.

“Oh, I’m from Missouri, just like Garth,” Bess giggled.

“Yeah,” Allison said, feeling awkward again as she watched the adoring couple, “that’s really nice.”

“What brings you by? Bunking with the dynamic duo make you miss me?” He chuckled playfully.

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“You know they’re just teddy bears under it all, Al,” he said.

“Dean’s a teddy bear in wolves clothing,” Allison countered.

Bess choked on her sweet tea.

“Oh, honey, are you all right?” Garth said.

She nodded her head indicating she was fine. 

“You know, I’m kinda tired, maybe I should just… you’ll have to excuse me.” 

“She’s interesting,” Allison quipped, after Bess made it out of the room. “She seems like a… doll.”

“Oh, she is!” he beamed again.

Allison rolled her eyes but felt a pang of guilt about being so snotty right now.

“You okay?” He asked.

Allison shrugged. “I’ve been better. But I am glad to see you. You’ve always had a way of making me smile no matter what.”

“Oh shit,” he said, his face dropping.

“What?”

“This is bad.”

“What are you talking about?”

He sighed. “I know you. You’re only this nice to me when something’s wrong.”

“Are you saying I just use you or butter you up to get something?” she asked.

“No, no, no. You just… you know I’m your friend, that’s all.”

“If you say so,” she said, standing up. “Can we go outside? It’s stuffy in here.”

“Yeah, sweet thang,” he said, following her out.

Allison smiled at his familiar peculiarity. They walked down the dirt road in silence. When they reached the intersection of his dirt road and the county road that was also just dirt, he pointed in a walking direction.

“So, you gonna tell me?”

“I really don’t even know where to start.”  

“Come on,” he said in a sing-song voice. “Don’t make me get Mr. Fizzles to talk to you.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

 “ _Mr. Fizzles wants to help Allison_ ,” Garth said, miming his sock puppet with his bare hand, “ _Mr. Fizzles wants to listen_.”

She glared at him, but he just smiled back. She growled subtly and kept walking. She suddenly regretted this. She wondered if she could make him forget the whole thing. But the burning, clenching feeling at the pit of her stomach wouldn’t let her.

“This is bad, Garth,” she finally said.

“I know.”

“I think you’ll be mad at me.”

“At you?” he scoffed, “you couldn’t have done anything that bad.”

“I might’ve, you don’t know.” 

“Look, it’s just us,” he said, gesturing to the wide-open country, “when have I ever not kept your secrets?”

“But this involves Sam. And Dean too.”

“You like them both now?”

“That’s not funny, and I’m serious. You know how I feel about just the one,” she said. “This fucks that up nine ways to Sunday.”

Garth scrunched his face, the possibilities collecting in his mind.

“You have to promise me you won’t ever repeat this to anyone.”

He looked her over, unease setting in as he watched her fidget. “Yeah, Allison, of course.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR GRAPHIC SEXUAL ASSAULT and the immediate physical, emotional, and psychological response. I wrote it with the intention to be cathartic and validating for survivors, not gratuitous or as a plot device just for the advancement of the boys' story. This is Allison's story. But I know it won't cathartic for everyone. Take care of your beautiful selves, please. 
> 
> You can skip this chapter if you need to and still continue with the storyline. It should still make sense.

FLASHBACK

 

“Sam, I’m exhausted from talking to all these people. I don’t even like people,” Allison quipped.

 He snorted. “Yeah, no kidding.”

She shot him a dirty look. “You’ve been in a mood. Are you sure you’re all right?”

He looked up from his laptop. “Yeah, just – just tired, like you.”

“You don’t get tired of research. Don’t make me get the holy water and silver, Winchester,” she grinned.

“What?” he scoffed, leveling an offended glare.

Allison frowned at his lack of humor.

“You’re right,” he said, softening his expression, “why don’t we take a long break? Have some drinks. Dean won’t be back for a while.”

“Pass that spiced rum,” she said, curling up on the couch, her back against the arm of the couch, legs tucked under her.  

“Why don’t you drink whiskey, like any self-respecting hunter?” he laughed, sitting next to her.

“Maybe I don’t have any self-respect,” she said, playfully laughing along.

“I’ll drink to that,” he said, biting his lip.

The atmosphere in the room changed suddenly and Allison got quiet as her mind raced.

 Sam handed Allison her drink. “Here’s to… misanthropy and a lack of self-respect,” he smirked.

Allison eyed him as they clinked glasses. Sam took a long sip before reaching his hand up to the dark blue tie he had been wearing all day. He loosened his tie, pulling it over his head. With a flick of his wrist, it landed right on his pillow. He cozied himself against the back of the couch and rested his head. 

“Nice shot,” Allison said.

He grinned, looking over at her while he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his white dress shirt. He glanced at the drink in her hand. “Pace yourself, babe.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “It’s just good, that’s all,” she said, feeling butterflies with the warmth in her stomach from her sip of rum. She was hiding her blush behind her glass at this point. The silence was loud.

“Hey, just so you know,” he said placing a hand on her knee, “you were really great today. With that kid, I don’t think we could’ve gotten him to talk the way you did. You’re always good with kids. I still remember the little girl in Omaha that would ask for only you.”

She smiled but watched his hand as he spoke. Then bit her tongue and nodded when he stopped talking.

His eyes followed hers to his hand on her knee. “Is this okay?” he asked.

Allison nodded her head acknowledging that it was. But she wasn’t sure. Something felt strange. She concluded it was her nerves. And the butterflies. And the three-fourths of a glass of rum. His hand slipped from her knee, to her thigh and her heart skipped a beat. His hand caught hers. Allison's gaze went from the contents of her glass to Sam.

“Allison, I… I want to tell you something. I wasn’t sure if I should, but I can’t _not_ tell you.”

“Okay,” she replied quietly, her heart pounding as she watched him become flustered. 

“You really were great today, you are a great hunter. And I’m amazed by you, by how smart you are, and how… how beautiful you are,” he stammered.

“You must not have high standards,” she giggled, “because I look like a mess right now,” she said, looking down at her plain black tank top and shorts.

Sam tightened his grip on her hand. “That’s just it, you always look beautiful to me, sweetheart.”

Allison tittered, and downed the rest of the rum.

“Time for round two,” she said, reaching for the bottle.

Sam stopped her reach with a kiss. It was almost forceful at first, but he relaxed. He hovered over her and slowly laid her back against the arm of the couch with no effort at his size. She had imagined what kissing him would feel like; that it would feel like a contradiction. It would be both gentle and powerful, sweet but intense, and kind but mischievous. It wasn’t. She felt nothing.

“Sam,” she said, putting her hands against his chest.

“Yeah?” he breathed.

“I don’t— I don’t think we should do this.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It doesn’t feel right… I can’t.”

He nodded, looking hurt, and sat back against the couch the way he was before. She felt guilty that there was no easy way to let him down. Months of flirting, and it turns out, there’s not even chemistry in a kiss. _What can I possibly say to that?_ she thought.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“No, it’s fine, really, I understand,” he sighed, speaking into his glass of whiskey before finishing it off in one gulp.

 “I think I need a power nap, and you could probably get more research done tonight before Dean gets back,” she said, getting up and making her way to Dean’s bed.

Sam got up too. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to do research.”

“Why?” Allison laughed as she picked her phone up off the nightstand.

“Because I’m not Sam,” he growled into her ear before hitting her in the back of her head.

The world went silent in Allison’s ears. Then it flashed bright and began to spin when her forehead bounced off the footboard of the bed. She tried to form words but couldn’t. She grabbed onto the footboard, trying to escape, but he dragged her back. It felt like a dream where you can’t speak or move, and nothing that’s happening makes any sense.

“S-Sam,” she breathed.

“No,” he spat from behind her.

He pinned her arms to the mattress, face down.

“Sam, please, don’t,” she pleaded.

He grabbed her by her hair. “I told you, I’m not Sam you little cock tease. Bet you wish I was.”

Adrenaline surged within her and every sense came into sharp focus. The stale smell of the hotel room, the feel of his weight pinning her, the dull lighting, and the pain at her scalp from him fisting her hair. She clawed at the footboard again.

“Goddammit, stop moving,” he said, slamming the side of her head against the rickety footboard again.

It wasn’t Sam, but it was the same strong body as Sam’s, who was more than twice her size. He easily pressed more weight against her to hold her down forcefully against the bed. Her eyes went wide when she realized his hold on her was so strong she was laboring to breathe under him. She felt her shorts yanked down from her body, bunching at her upper thighs. The abrupt exposure to him made her panic set in fully.

“No,” she sobbed, barely audible, as he forced inside her.

“All those months you manipulated him,” he panted into her ear, “you know how badly he wanted to fuck you? And then you, you whore, you’re just going to say _it doesn’t feel right_?” he mocked her earlier comment.

 “I have his memories,” he sang. “I was going to kill you, but the thoughts and fantasies he has of you, you fucking hunter cunt, they were too good to pass up,” he added with a brutal thrust that made her whimper into the scratchy bedspread.

  _You’re the shapeshifter,_ Allison thought, remembering Sam thought it was gone before they even snuck into the witch's house. She wanted to say she knew who he was, but was too afraid to speak in fear of him killing her or her choking from a lack of air.

“He wants to fuck you just like this,” he grunted, “he wants to dominate you, hurt you, take whatever he wants, and fuck you until he breaks you in two,” he said, yanking her head back harder and growling into her ear, “but I get to do it now.”

Allison cried as quietly as she could and held her body rigid in an attempt to control the pain, counting the seconds to herself. He finally finished, slurring a string of vile insults at her for his final pleasure.

He pushed himself off her back, zipping his pants. Fearing what was next, she pulled up her shorts with one hand and fell off the bed, on the side opposite from him. She landed with a painful thud onto the hard floor.   

“Getting away, whore?” he chuckled with Sam’s laugh. “You still aren’t making it out of here alive.”

 She felt under the bed until her hand landed on the silver blade. “Come get me,” her voiced trembled through gritted teeth.

When he approached her closely, she sank the silver blade into his thigh. It sizzled, and she yanked it out as she leapt for the door. Hands grabbed her hair and pulled her head back roughly.

“You stupid cunt,” he sneered.

“No!” she shrieked, as her back slammed against the far motel room wall.

“Allison!” someone yelled, pounding on the door.

“Dean!” Allison yelped.

The shifter pinned her with his hand squeezing at her throat.

Hearing Dean on the other side of the door, she struggled against the shifter with renewed hope. The electronic lock on the door clicked, but it wasn't audible to the shifter or to Allison.

“Let her go!” Dean roared behind them.

The shifter twisted Allison up with her back against his chest, his forearm under her throat.

“I will snap this whore’s neck,” he growled.

Allison looked in front of her; both Winchester brothers were standing there, and both were dangerously enraged on her behalf. The sight of Sam, the real Sam, made tears spill down her face.

 “And I will rip you apart if you even fucking try it,” Sam snarled.

Allison realized her fists had been clamped down on something. One fist clenched around hard metal. The silver blade in her right hand. She slid to the side just enough and before he had a chance to pull her back, she sank the blade into his gut. He loosened his grip on her and howled, as she stumbled away backwards. Her legs started to go weak and she nearly tripped over her own feet. A large hand caught her arm and steadied her. It was the real Sam. He pushed her behind him and the last thing she remembered was Dean lunging at the shifter.

“Allison? Allison, wake up,” she heard as she opened her eyes.

She sucked in a huge breath as she sat up and scanned the room. Her eyes zeroed in on Dean pulling his long silver blade from the heart of the monster.

“We got him,” Sam said.

She looked up and saw Sam’s face staring down at her with worry.

“Get off,” she snarled, pushing away from him.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, loosening his grip on her.

“I’m fine,” she answered.

She pushed up from her hands and knees.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she grumbled again, steadying herself on her feet, waiting for the room to stop spinning. The sticky feeling on the inside of her thighs sent a sickening shiver down her spine. Her stomach rolled in response and vomit burned the back of her throat. She slapped her hand over her mouth, but it was no use stopping it. She darted for the toilet and heaved into the porcelain bowl.

Sam lurked in bathroom doorway until her heaves subsided.

“You’re not fine,” Sam said, getting on his knees beside her, “just tell me what happened,” he asked again, while resting a comforting hand on her back.

 “Just leave me alone, Sam,” she choked out, pushing herself up from the floor.  

She flushed the toilet and rinsed her mouth at the sink as Sam stood behind her hesitantly.

“Get out, I have to use the bathroom,” she barked at him without looking up from the sink.  

He walked out, and she slammed the bathroom door, locking it. Grabbing the washcloth from the rack behind the toilet, she cried silently as she wet it with the hottest water from the sink.

“Allison? Look, we have to go. Hurry up, okay?” Sam called.

She swallowed back any more tears, and frantically scrubbed the inside of her thighs.

Dean was cleaning up the scene when she stumbled out.

“Seriously, what happened?” Dean asked her.

She felt her blood running cold and some remote part of her started speaking for her. “I don’t know. We fought, and now he’s dead.”

“How’d you know he was a shifter?” Dean asked.

“He told me,” She said, her expression stony.

He frowned. “Look, we need to get out of here. Now. No chance no one heard this fight,” Dean said, gesturing at the body on the floor.

Allison followed his gaze and the body didn’t even look like Sam anymore. She fought back a sob. But she couldn’t take her eyes from it.

“Did you hear me?” Dean demanded.

She looked up at him from her trance. “What?”

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, “Sam, take her stuff for her and help me with this so we can go.”

Allison wandered out of the room in a daze. She fumbled at the handle of the Impala before getting the door open and getting in. She stared through the windshield at the empty lot across the road. It was night, and she thought how it looked like a black abyss with a fake outline of trees. It didn’t look like a real place. It didn't feel real either. The end of the motel that bordered the road looked blurred and dim, like it was part of the blackness. She flinched when both doors opened. Sam jumped in beside her and Dean peeled out of the parking lot.

“What?” she snapped at Sam who was looking her over.

“You have a big cut on your head. You don’t feel it?”

Allison shook her head and reached up to touch it. She drew her hand away with blood all over it. She looked it over, confused. She wasn’t sure what she was seeing. In the darkness, it looked as black as the abyss from the motel. Her mind floated. _Maybe we’re all in hell and don’t know it, maybe this is a nightmare and it just seems—_

“Sweetheart, I think—”

“Don’t fucking call me that!”

“Sorry,” Sam said with a quiet, suspicious tone.

A grim feeling washed over him as he listened to her shallow breathing. “I’m just going to check your pulse,” he said gently.

He slowly placed two fingers on her neck. Her pulse was fast. And she was shivering hard.

“Dean, I think she’s in shock, maybe we should get her checked out at a hospital.”

“No hospitals, Sam!” she screeched.

Dean and Sam exchanged a look.

“Turn the heat up,” Sam said as he took off his flannel and draped it over her shoulders.

“Listen, I need you to breathe, Allison,” he instructed gently, “or you’re going to hyperventilate.”

She stared with an unseeing expression.

“Allison?” he said, clasping her hand.

She flinched at the touch and he let go.

“I need you to breathe with me,” he said with a soothing voice, “inhale for 1…2…3 and exhale for 1…2…3…4. And again.”

Sam kept coaching her breathing while he reached for the first aid kit and removed the supplies. “Could you lean forward for me, I need to look at your head?” he asked.

She complied without a word.

“The cut isn’t that bad,” he said, after a moment of examination, “but I can’t see it as well as I’d like in the dark. Head wounds can bleed a lot and not be serious, though,” he reassured. 

Sam cleaned and fixed her injury. “This will have to do for now,” he said.

The longer his hands were on her, the more intensified her anxiety became . She was trembling and had returned to her shallow breathing.

“Are you still cold?” Sam asked her.

“The heat’s all the way up,” Dean added, “I’m roasting up here.”

She could hear the two voices, but she couldn’t make sense of the words.

"Allison, just take a few deep breaths for me."  
  
He checked her wrist pulse. Her hands were cold and clammy, and her pulse was rapid but weak. “Shit,” he breathed.

He gingerly put his hand on her cheek. “Allison, are you listening? Are you hurt anywhere else?”

She stared past him. He doubted her ability to even know if she were injured and looked her over again. He reached out to get a closer look at the purple hand print forming on her neck, placing three fingers on the front of her throat.

“Stop touching me,” she abruptly growled.  

 Sam held up his hands in a show of meaning her no harm. “I just want to make sure you aren’t hurt anywhere else,” he replied.

Taking advantage of Sam’s flannel, she draped it over herself like a blanket. Allison stared straight ahead with no expression, hugging her knees tight to her chest. Sam searched his mind for what to say but came up empty.

“W-where a-are w-we? She suddenly asked, her teeth chattering.

“Where do you think we are?” he asked eyeing her.

She shrugged.

“We’re leaving Cleveland.”

“W-why were we t-there?” she asked.

Dean looked back, trading concerned and confused glances with Sam.

“Princess, can you tell me what you do remember?” Dean asked.  

Her heart dropped, and her breathing stopped. “No,” she cried with a strangled, breathless sob.

“Hey, hey, Allison, look at me,” Sam said.  “Breathe with me, okay? Just follow my breath.”

She mimicked his breathing for a moment until she regained control over hers.

“I’m so sleepy,” she mumbled.

“You have to let me check to see how your eyes respond to light first.”

Sam grabbed the pen light from the first aid kit by his feet. She winced when he shone the light in her eyes, but her pupils responded normally. “You’re probably okay to sleep. Does your head hurt?”

“Sorta,” she replied.

“Do you feel nauseated again?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Do you feel _anything_?”

She shrugged.

“Allison,” he asked her in a near whisper, “Is there anything else we should know about?”

She shook her head again, squeezing her eyes shut this time.

He reluctantly surrendered to her refusal to talk to him. “I’ll keep an eye on you while you sleep, just in case.”

She curled up in a ball on the seat as far away from Sam as she could and closed her eyes.

“There’s something she isn’t telling us, Dean.”

“She obviously hit her head pretty hard back there, I don’t think she can make sense of much.”

Sam shook his head. “She just— she’s responding like all of the other victims we talk to, but she’s used to fighting monsters. Why would she freak out?”

“She was blindsided, Sammy, she had no idea that was a shifter. Then she had fight you—but not _you_.”

“How long had you left her alone with that—the shifter?”

“I don’t know, an hour?”

“Jesus.”

“What, Sam?” Dean asked, growing impatient.

“Nothing, I’m just thinking aloud,” he replied, dread working its way up his throat.

Allison couldn’t keep herself awake anymore to eavesdrop and drifted out of consciousness.        

 

END FLASHBACK


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're past the most triggering part. If you had to skip the last chapter, this chapter will catch you up on the details important to the story.

Garth’s expression was painful for her to watch while she recounted that day. She avoided looking at him as much as possible. She wasn’t sure what to expect, not even from her kindest, oldest friend.

“God, Allison. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to say,” Garth said, as he snapped a twig he’d picked up after they sat down on the old fallen log.

She nodded, noticing the tears in his eyes.

“Sorry,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself.

“No, Al, I’m…” he trailed off, as he wiped his face with his hand, “you’re my best friend, and it just breaks my heart that something like that happened.”

She looked off the in the distance, wiping at her own tears. “So now Dean and Sam are mad at me because the last hunt we did, two months after all that, was another shifter case. And I froze. We had the fucking thing. But when it was standing in front of me, I just lost it, and I couldn’t explain to them why.”

“Wait, they still don’t know?”

“No. I’ve been so cold to Sam, and I see how it hurts him, but I can’t stop. Every time he gets close, I just….” She trailed off. “One time we were having a good time at the bar, and I could’ve sworn he was going to kiss me, and I panicked so bad. He was nice to me about it, but he probably thinks I hate him. I’ve fucked up everything.”  

“I wish you would have at least told me instead of keeping it a secret. I could’ve helped, been there for you.”

“It wasn’t secret I just…”

“… didn’t want anyone to know?” he said, finishing her sentence.

“I’m sorry.”  

Garth put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to his chest. She couldn’t stop the sobs that broke free and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

“I have to tell you something,” he said after her sobs died down and she pulled away, “Sam called me and—”

“What?”

“They were worried about you. Sam said you were missing and asked if I knew where you might be. This was before you even got here, about an hour after you texted me. I just wanted to let them know you were okay. I didn't realize… everything that was going on.”

“Oh my God,” she groaned, standing up. “I have to go.”

“No, wait,” he said, putting himself in her path. “They’re still an hour or two out. And you have to tell them, Allison.”

“So much for keeping my secrets, Garth,” she snapped.

“I’m not telling them anything, even if you don’t. You know I won’t. But I really think you should. Or are you just going to keep freezing up on every case that might have a shifter? Can you live with the possible consequences of that?”

Allison rolled her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself again.

 “Let’s go back to the house," he said, his tone and expression softening. "It’s getting cold and you need to eat something and rest. Bess will make you anything you want.”

“I don’t want to bring her into this.”

“She doesn’t have to know about this. You’re a friend of mine just needing a place to go for a minute. She’ll understand.”

Garth was true to his word. Bess made Allison the best homemade lasagna she’d ever had. Then she fell asleep on the couch watching TV. The next sound she heard was the rumble of an engine right in front of the house. Allison sat bolt upright.

“Sam and Dean are here,” Garth called from the top of the stairs.

“Fuck,” she grumbled. “Where’s Bess?”

“She went to town to see her folks. I told her you were having the guys over for a pow wow and she wanted you to have your space.”

“That was generous.”

“Knew you’d like her,” he grinned.

“Open up,” Dean called after banging on the door.

“Fuck,” Allison repeated more dramatically before opening the door.

“You’re in trouble, princess,” Dean said as he pushed past her.

Sam leveled a frustrated look at her as he followed Dean into the house.

“Start talking,” Dean commanded, glaring at her.

“Dean—” Garth started.

“You’re guilty of harboring a fugitive,” Dean said, turning his glare on Garth.

“What a fucking drama queen,” Allison swore under her breath.

 “No, guys, look. She really needs you to listen to her.”

Both brothers looked at Allison. She suddenly felt two feet tall beneath their stare.

“Thanks, umm, good segue,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose, “okay, I can’t do this right now, I’m going to go,” she added, heading toward the door.

In three strides, Dean blocked her way.

“I drive five hours and you think—” Dean yelled.

“Dean!” Garth snapped, “I mean it! Sit down and listen to her.”

“You don’t have to be mean about it,” Dean said, gaping at Garth’s brazenness.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Allison whispered again, as she fell into the oversized chair opposite them. Garth perched himself on the arm of it.

“Allison, you can do this,” Garth said quietly, “we’re all here for you.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a conversational look as they always did. 

“Fucking hell,” she muttered to herself, watching them watch her out of the corner of her eye.

“Well?” Dean pushed.

“The witch case in Cleveland,” Allison started carefully, studying the gray and brown pattern on the living room rug, “I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d be mad, and you’d blame yourself, and it would all just be stupid, and it wouldn’t change anything anyway, and you wouldn’t want me to hunt with you anymore, and that’s also stupid, because I was pretty sure I was fine until the last case and then something just snapped and—”

“Allison, slow down,” Sam said.

“The shifter that—that looked like you,” she said, glancing up at Sam, her mouth going bone dry. “I didn’t… I really thought it was you. At first, anyway.”

“And?” Dean asked.

The air she tried to inhale was like ice in her lungs.

“I lied… I lied about—about it not hurting me. I wasn’t—I wasn’t all right. I was trapped with him—with _it_. He was going to kill me but then…” she swallowed hard as her voice began to get hoarse and her breaths became shallower. “He was toying with me, and I didn’t even know it until… he just got out of control and everything happened so fast and after he slammed my head on the bed frame...” she said, trailing off as she failed to hold back the tears rolling down her face.

The deafening silence in the room urged her on. “I got confused and I didn’t even have time to—to stop him…” she choked out with a shrug, “that’s why I froze on the last case, I just couldn’t...”

Dean shifted forward in his seat, his fists and jaw clenched. Sam was speechless and motionless, but the expressions that crossed his face said everything.

Allison stared straight at the floor, crying quietly, only the shudder of her shoulders giving her away.

Embarrassed at her lack of self-control, she sucked up the sobs in several short but deep breaths until she felt detached from her pain.

“I’m really sorry,” she muttered, not even bothering to wipe the tears from her face, “I just didn’t want to be a burden, you both already deal with enough.” 

She began counting all the small circles on the rug beneath her and chewing her nails. Sam got up without a word. Her eyes followed his heavy footsteps out the front door. He slammed the door hard enough to break the glass. He’d walked out on her, just as she suspected. A sob she tried to stifle betrayed her.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Allison,” Dean said, running his hands through his hair. He wasn't looking at her, so she glanced at him. Anger tensed every muscle she could see.

Finally, he got up and moved toward the door like he was leaving her too. Instead, he stopped and knelt by her chair.  

“I’m—I’m sorry. For everything. This is all my fault, not yours,” he said, his voice cracking.

“I told you that’s what you would do,” she said.

“Good for you for knowing me.”

“But I don’t want you to, Dean.”

“Princess, forget about me,” he argued, taking her hand. “Just come back home with us, where you belong. We’ll figure it all out there.”

“I don’t think Sam wants me there,” she said, tears starting again.

“He’s angry with himself, Allison, not you. I know my brother, he lo—he cares about you. I mean, we all care about you.”

Allison stared wide-eyed at Dean’s slip.

“Look, he’ll be back. He’ll talk to you himself, you’ll see. It’ll be okay sweetheart,” he said, kissing her forehead and squeezing her hand as he stood up to go find his brother.

“I need to go lay down, I think I’m going to be sick,” she muttered to Garth after the front door shut behind Dean.

“Sure thing, sweets. There’s a guest room at the top of the stairs. King size bed and everything. Can I bring you anything?”

“A really big drink of anything with alcohol in it.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean walked the property looking for Sam. A large, dilapidated storage shed that blended in the scenery too well caught his attention.

“You know, it was hard for her to watch you walk out,” Dean said, sauntering through the creaky old door.

Sam was standing bent over an old table, his hands gripping the edge tight enough to crack it. “I’m just so fucking mad,” he replied, shoving himself off the table. “How could I let this happen to her, Dean? How did I not see that she was dealing with something like this for _two_  fucking months?”

“It’s not your fault, Sam.”

“What, and it’s hers?”

“Of course not. It’s the shifters fault. And it’s my fault.”

“Yours? How?”

“I knew something was off back there on that case. I knew you weren’t being you. I thought maybe the witch had done something, so I waited for weird shit to start, but nothing happened. So, I blew it off. I could’ve stopped him, Sam.”

“Yeah? And I could’ve helped her sooner! I told you something bad happened when we were in the car, I told you she wasn’t telling us everything!”

Dean nodded and glanced away. Sam had called it, and he blew that off too.

“I wish I had tried to get her to talk after that night, but she just… she swore nothing was wrong, but… I see it now. It all makes sense. Fuck! Now I know why she’s been avoiding me,” Sam said, looking at the grimy old concrete floor, “and why she’s been so moody with me.”

“It’s not you.”

“He was wearing my face, Dean,” he shot back. “All I do is remind her of him and—and what he did to her.”

Sam spun around on his heel and backhanded everything off the old table. His whole body trembled with rage.

“Look,” Dean said calmly, “she’s going to get through this. Allison is one tough cookie. She’s got people that care. You two will still find your way to each other... or something.”

“What? You’re insane if you think she wants me after this, but I don’t even care about that now, I care about _her_ ,” Sam gestured toward the house.  “I care that our _friend_ has been dealing with this alone, and I care that she did it all to protect us, because somehow she thinks she could ever be a burden.”  

“She cares about you. You weren’t there just now, you didn’t see her face when you left. And maybe—I might’ve accidentally said something.”

“Said what?”

“Nothing really, I almost told her you love her but—”

“ _What?_ ”

“I said you _cared_ about her, like we all care about her. She didn’t notice.”

“Like hell,” he flared. “Thanks a lot, Dean.”

“You’re welcome.”

Sam glared and shook his head.  

“Is it out of your system now? Are you done yelling into the void or whatever you do?” Dean asked. “Because she really needs you.”

“No, it’s not out of my system. It won’t ever be,” Sam said, walking out of the old shed.

 

“Where is she?” Sam asked Garth, as he came through the front door and found no sign of her.

“She went to the guest room, I was just going to bring her this,” he said, holding out a glass full of amber liquid.

“I’ll take it to her.”

“First room at the top of the stairs. Be nice to her. Or I’ll bust a cap in your ass,” Garth said with a crooked grin.

Sam snorted, giving Garth a weird sideways glance.

Sam knocked gently on Allison’s door. “Can I come in?”

“It’s open.”

Allison turned over in bed, sitting up against the headboard.

“Garth wanted you to have this,” he said, putting the drink on the night stand.

“Thanks,” she said, running her hands through her hair.

“Did I wake you? I can go—”

“No, I’m up.”  

Sam carefully gauged a safe distance to sit down on the bed. Allison watched him pick it out and sit down while she sipped as much bourbon as she could before it burned her throat.

 “I didn’t mean to walk out on you earlier,” Sam started, “I’m really sorry if I upset you. I wasn’t walking out, I just… I was too upset to sit there, I had to go—”

“... scream into the void?”

“That’s what Dean called it, too,” Sam inquired.

“Yeah, it’s what we both call it when you have to go out and ‘get some air,’” she said. “I just didn’t want you and Dean to do what you both do so well. Which is blame yourselves and take on everyone’s problem as your own.”

He locked eyes with her. “I failed you, Allison,” he said, pleading for forgiveness, “and we’re a team. Everything that happens with any of us is our problem.”

“You didn’t fail me, Sam, and blame just isn’t going to change anything. I just want to go on with my life. I want to go back to the way things were.”

“It doesn’t really work that way,” he said softly.

“What does that mean? You don’t want me working with you anymore?”

“No, of course I still want you with us. I just mean it’s normal to feel different. And that’s okay, I’m here for you.”

“I don’t know why…” she trailed off with a heavy sigh, “why you care about me.”

He looked her over, watching her tuck her legs against herself closer, bite her lip, pick at her nails. He ached to reach out to her. To tell her why he cares and that he’d do anything for her.

“What can I do?”

“Don’t start treating me like fragile glass for starters.”

“But—”

“I watched you when you came in here. You were afraid to even sit on the bed next me.”

“I just don’t want to—”

“I know, that’s what I’m talking about,” she interrupted again. “I’m sorry I’ve been so horrible to you. It’s like something else would take over and I sat by and watched myself say and do things.  But you haven’t done anything wrong, and I don’t blame you or Dean for anything. You didn’t deserve the way I’ve been.”

“You don’t have to apologize, I understand,” he consoled. “But thanks."

Allison timidly reached out her hand to take Sam’s. As soon as his hand touched hers, she tensed.

“Oh, sorry—”  

“He started off being nice,” she interrupted, not letting him let go of her hand. “Umm, he, being you, but not you -- he held my hand and said he had feelings for me.”

Sam froze and swallowed hard.

“Something didn’t feel right about it. I guess it’s just that it wasn’t even you, just a monster pretending to be. He kissed me, and I felt nothing. I sorta told him that. And then he told me he wasn’t you and he nearly knocked me unconscious. Twice. I couldn’t stop him, Sam.”

“Allison, listen to me,” he said squeezing her hand, “this isn’t your fault. No matter what you said or did or didn’t say or didn’t do.”

 Tears trickled onto her cheeks. “How could I not know? If I’m any hunter at all, I should’ve known.”

“That’s what they do. They completely imitate someone. Dean and I have fell for it too. But you’re here, and that’s what matters. And I remember, you stabbed that fucker and got away, and that’s the reason he’s dead. You’re a great hunter.”

Allison snorted, but the silent tears kept coming. “Yeah, that’s what he said too,” she added quietly.

Sam slouched and looked at his hand in hers. “I’m so sorry.”  

He wanted to do anything to make her feel better. He would’ve given her a hug before, but now he wasn’t sure what’s okay and what isn’t. _Don’t start treating me like fragile glass_ her voice echoed in his thoughts. Hoping he wasn’t making a big mistake, he slid up the bed next to her. She didn’t stop him. He held his breath as he embraced her. She shifted to face him, and they wrapped their arms around each other. He relaxed as she snuggled against him. He rested his chin on the top of her head and gently stroked her arm with the palm of his hand.

Allison was too tired to cry anymore or keep up her defenses. She had feared and anticipated he wouldn’t want to touch her again if he knew. But his unexpected hold on her now was like a cozy blanket on a wintry day. She let her exhausted body go limp against him and he held her closer.  The minutes they spent like this only felt like seconds.    

A knock on the door brought them both back into the moment. “Hey, Sam?”

“What is it Garth?” Sam grumbled, releasing his hold on Allison.

Garth cracked the door open. “So, there’s a blizzard headed in. You boys are going to have to bunk here tonight. The roads west of here are already closing down in the white out conditions.”

“Great,” Sam grumbled.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!” Garth hummed. “I’ll get out the Twister!”

“I am not playing Twister with you idiots,” Allison said, “how about Mon-”

“Don’t say it.”

“Monopoly.”

“No,” he concluded. “You are so mean when you play that game.”

“I will own you all, and everything you have will be mine,” she taunted.

“Think I’m gonna have to pass on getting owned by you,” Sam said, looking at her with playful caution before looking back to Garth, “How about just a simple, non-competitive movie?”

“Got it!” Garth squeaked and shut the door.

“Should we head downstairs?” he asked, standing up and holding his hand out for her.

“Sure,” she said, taking his hand.

Dean smirked, watching them hold hands as they came downstairs and then sat on sofa close together.

“You have got to try this lasagna,” Dean said, digging into the bottom of his bowl.

“Sam,” Allison alerted.

“On it,” he jumped up and headed to the kitchen.

Dean gave her an annoyed expression.

“Oh, come on, you know you’d eat it all.”

“Damn right.”

Sam came back out with two bowls, handing one to Allison while the DVD of Captain America played on the small TV.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor TW for a small scene that insinuates victim-blaming.

The sound of one of the shutters banging against the dining room window jarred everyone awake. Dean bounded over to the window to check out the possible threat. Finding nothing, he locked the shutter.

“God, it’s late,” Allison groaned.

“Not enough spare rooms to go around, guys,” Garth said with a sleepy voice. “Allison called dibs on the guest room, but there’s the couch and there's sleeping bags in the hall closet, good night.”

Dean grumbled to himself over the situation but dragged out a thick sleeping bag.  

 “Hey,” she said quietly next to Sam, “umm, you could stay with me if you want to.”

“It's okay, I’m fine down here on the floor," he said, confused by her invitation. 

“It's just that I guess I don’t really feel like being alone,” she fidgeted, “if you don't mind that is, it's just that the house is really unfamiliar and sleeping in strange places is not as comfortable as it used to be and I sleep better sharing with you because Dean kicks in his sleep, plus I feel bad taking a whole giant bed—”

“I don't mind,” he interrupted gently. 

Halfway up the stairs with Sam, anxiety rose in her throat. Watching him edge along the bed, her chest went cold. She took two steps back from the bed, staring at the space between Sam and the bed. Seeing her reaction, he thought fast. 

“Is it okay if I sleep closest to the door?” he asked. “Dean never lets me do that. I think he just wants first crack at the kill shot if something walks through the door,” he added with a light chuckle.

“Sure,” she said quietly,  coming back into the moment.

He gingerly sat in the bed, his eyes trailing up to Allison. She loosened the tie on her hair and it fell halfway down her back in waves. Her red t-shirt that clung to her body brought out the ruby tones in her hair. The warm lighting from the lamp beside the bed gave her skin on her arms and shoulders soft honey glow. His tired eyes drifted to the different curves of her body. She collapsed onto the bed, breaking the spell. Guilt flared in the pit of his stomach and he chided himself for eyeing his friend, thankful she didn't see it. He yanked the lamp string with an overly loud pop, turning off his light. He flipped on his side facing away from Allison. 

Allison laid flat on her back, staring at the ceiling. She focused on the sound of the snow pelting the side of the house, and the wind rattling the windows as a gust kicked up. Anything but knowing Sam was sharing a bed with her, and anything but thinking about how she’d just felt his eyes on her. The electrical charge hovered in the air around them. Just like that evening with the shifter.

Allison’s stomach knotted as she tried to blink away her memory with a flurry of questions. _What would’ve happened if I hadn’t fell for the trick the shifter played that night? How fucked up am I that I can feel attracted to Sam even now?  It’s even more fucked up that I’m afraid of him and attracted at the same time. What’s wrong with me? Haven't I learned anything?_ She huffed aloud and wrapped her arms around herself as the tiniest fragments of memories flickered. 

“You okay?” Sam asked, turning over to look at her.

“Umm…”

“Do you need me to go? It’s okay if you’re not comfortable with this.”

“No, it’s not that.”

He watched her sit up against the headboard. "Well, maybe."  
  
"I can sleep on the floor downstairs," he insisted.   
  
"No, it's not... I don't want you to go."   
  
He nodded but studied the turmoil crossing her face in the dim lamplight glowing next to her.

“I just mean... I guess I don't know what I mean. But it's not you," she said with a long pause. "My mind just goes in these circles and it won't shut up. I think one thing and ten seconds later I'm lost in a hundred things. Then the images start."   
  
"Images?"   
  
"It's like a movie playing with the wrong voiceover track. And that track is too loud and the movie doesn't make any sense and eventually your senses are just overwhelmed with the unrelenting dissonance between the words and images and then the sheer volume of the words, and..." she hesitated, hugging her knees tighter, "I think sometimes that's when the anxiety attacks start."  
  
Sam frowned, sitting up with his back against the headboard like Allison. "Does this happen often?"   
  
"Only when I don't drink enough," she chuckled sardonically.   
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize..."  
   
She glanced at him with a half smile. "My will to keep you from seeing it was quicker than the anxiety attack. All the walks, all the times I had to go to bed early, all the vending machine runs when we were in motels, all the sudden phone calls I had to make, all the crack of dawn coffee runs."  
  
Sam's pained expression made her keenly aware of her moment of overshare. "But you know now," she injected, "and it's not that bad."   
  
"Compared to what?"   
  
"The real flashbacks," she blurted out.

His face contorted in surprise at her confession. "Look, I'm tired and I'm being dramatic, don't mind me," she retreated.   
  
"I think you're finally being honest," he said.   
  
She gave a nervous chuckle and swallowed back the burning in her throat. The t-shirt and leggings she was wearing now felt thin clinging to her body. She angled slightly away from Sam.  
  
"Yeah, well, I'm sure you've had enough of that for one day and want to go to sleep."  
  
"I'm up. I'm here to listen."  
  
"There's not really much else," she dodged.   
  
"What caused the anxiety earlier keeping you awake?"  
  
His question was met with a jittery silence. Determined to uphold his question as long as it took, he let the silence hang over them.   
  
"You’re going to think it's stupid," she warned.   
  
"I'm your friend, I'm not judging you."   
  
"Yeah, you will," she hesitated to continue.  
  
"Was it a flashback?" he asked in a calming tone.  
  
Squeezing her eyes shut, she inhaled. “I guess it was something like a flashback. More words and feelings than images but they weren't far behind. He… he said he had your memories a-and he knew your thoughts, umm, about me,” she stuttered.

Sam’s face grew dark at the possibility of what was next.

“He said you were, umm… that you wanted to… be rough with me, y'know, and _he_ hurt me because—because _you_ wanted to.”

Revulsion and embarrassment swept over him at once and his cheeks burned. The poorly lit room didn't stop him from wanting to hide his face from her.

“It’s nothing like that Allison,” he rushed to reply, “I promise you. Whatever shred of a thought he took out of my mind, he twisted it to scare you.”

“What was there to even twist?”

“Nothing, it's not important now," he said, coming across more abrupt than he intended. He cringed at himself and continued with his previous calming tone, "we have plenty of time to talk more, I know you’re exhausted.”

“Oh,” she resigned.

“I'm not brushing you off,” he offered, hearing the dismay in her voice, “but everything that son of a bitch said or did was to hurt you. Right now I just need you to know I’d never hurt you or make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

She nodded. “I know, but thanks for saying it.”

She held her body stiff as she fidgeted with the ends of her hair. Sam leaned his head back against the off-white wall offering Allison space from him and from the nerve wracking conversation. Several minutes went by with her staring into nothing, still not moving except her fidgeting.  

“I can still go if you need some space, if I’m making you uncomfortable with—”

“Everything is uncomfortable, Sam!” she snapped without warning, sitting straight up. “It has been for two months, and it just doesn’t stop! Breathing is uncomfortable. Talking is uncomfortable. Living in my own skin is uncomfortable, because I just want to jump out of it. I feel like my throat is going to freeze over and I’ll never be able to speak again. I feel like—like I'm going to fall off the edge and never come back."

He burned with the gravity of her grief. “Can I?” he asked, putting his arm around her.

She nodded as a few tears flowed down her cheeks.

“It’s all right, Allison, everything is going to be okay,” he said, brushing her hair out of her face and placing a hand on her cheek, 

She gripped him tighter, pressing her fingertips into his skin to quell the sobs and the dragging memories with tactile sensations. _I'm in Garth's house, I'm in a safe place, the bed is soft, the quilt has red and blue patterns, Sam is wearing a green shirt, I'm wearing a red shirt, he smells woodsy and like oranges..._ she chanted in her mind.  
  
"Just breathe," he said, interrupting her.

She hadn't noticed her own quickened, shallow breaths. Breathing in deep, her heart still pounded, and she made an effort to fill her chest with air before her next confession.

“Since this whole thing is already past the point of no return anyway, and I'm too tired to have a functioning brain cell,” she gulped, releasing her grip on him, “there’s something else.”

“Okay.” 

“I—I don't mean it the way it sounds, and I know how crazy I am, so please don’t be upset—I just have to know for myself… to see if—"

“Just tell me.”

She heaved a weighty sigh. “Would you kiss me?” she quavered.

His jaw dropped, and his breath hitched in his throat. “Allison, I don’t think… now is not…” he said, stumbling over his words.

“Nevermind,” she said, pulling away, "I know it's a really stupid thing to ask you and it doesn't make any sense."   

“I just don’t want to make this worse for you.”

“Sorry.”

Pangs of remorse bit at him as he watched her in the dreary light. She was terrified and anguished, and every bit of it was his fault. The shifter getting anywhere near her was his fault, overlooking the aftermath was his fault. He breathed in hard and swallowed back his myriad of feelings. In any other situation, he would’ve wished she’d be asking him to do this.

“Hey,” he whispered, pushing her tousled hair out of her face. "Is it okay?"

She nodded and let his lips touch hers delicately. He felt her trembling and ran a comforting hand up and down her arm. Her heart skipped and the air in her lungs burned. She pulled back.

“Are you okay?” he asked, watching her.

She couldn’t make eye contact with him again. “I just… I had to know,” she muttered.

“Know what?” he asked.

“That it wouldn’t feel like nothing, because then it's easier to know what's real or not. Sometimes when I look at you, I don't know. But if there's a feeling, then...”

He acknowledged her cryptic answer with a hum, knowing she was struggling against her own mind and memories. But it hadn’t felt like nothing to her. It felt warm, kind, and mingled with a pleasure she didn’t think she’d feel again. The feeling made her anxiety surge, and she closed her eyes, willing it away. Willing everything away.

“God, now I feel humiliated,” she finally said. "I'm such a mess," she added.

“There’s nothing to feel embarrassed about, Allison,” he soothed.

The touch of her lips still had his tingling and he ran the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip. He waited for a response, but she was staring at nothing on the far end of the room again.  
  
He lightly gripped her arm to bring her back. “So, did it feel like nothing to you?”

“Did what feel—oh. No. It—it felt like _you_ … it felt… like I thought it would.”

He let go of the breath he had been holding. _Like she thought it would?_

“It’s getting cold now,” she said, sliding down in the bed, flat on her back again, "I'm just too drained, I can't do this anymore." 

He followed her example, but propped himself up on his side, facing her. He bunched the covers up around her and snuggled her against him. “I know. It’s been a long day, we should both get some sleep,” he said, kissing her forehead.

***

Allison awoke relaxed from the most peaceful sleep she’d had in weeks. Feeling a body next to her, she bolted upright. Sam. She watched the peacefulness on his face, and the slow rise and fall of his chest. Something within her fluttered and she felt her cheeks flush. In seconds, the entirety of the previous day punched her in the stomach. She physically winced and withdrew in humiliation. The voice loop clicked on in her head, repeating sentences from yesterday.  The shameful things she had to confess, the reaction of everyone else, the words of pity, shock, and confusion. Sitting alone in the cold, quiet room, the loop could play as loud and as long as it wanted to. She stealthily hurried out of the bed to not wake Sam, slipped on her shoes and hoodie, and tiptoed downstairs to find breakfast. To her surprise, Bess was there and was already fixing breakfast.

“Up before all the boys, too?” Bess asked.

“Seems that way. It’s still early.”

“Oh, heavens, this isn’t that early.”

“Yesterday was a long day,” Allison sighed.

Bess didn’t reply, and Allison began to worry she was upset at the intrusion on her home. “Do you want help?”

“Why don’t you work that biscuit dough over there.”

Allison pulled up her sleeves and sank her hands into the cold dough. The memory of doing this a thousand times as a kid came back, and she liked the feeling of it between her fingers. As the dough began to form, she squeezed it aggressively. 

“Garth said you went to see your parents. I’m sorry I just showed up yesterday.”

“I got the essence of it, I understand,” Bess said, watching the dough. 

 _The essence?_   Allison mouthed to herself.

“If you keep that up, you’re going to work all the flavor out of it." 

“Oh, um, sorry,” Allison replied, dropping the battered ball of dough into the bowl. 

“Just make it into rolls on that pan over there,” Bess motioned to the opposite counter top, “nothing a little salted butter on top won’t fix.”

Allison made a delightful humming sound at that idea while Bess went back to her pot of oatmeal.

“I bet you don’t eat like this often. Hunters have a hard life,” Bess continued.

“It can be hard,” she replied flatly, focused on her work.

Allison got into a quick rhythm rolling dough balls between her palms and putting them on the pan.

“I suppose I only know about the life from what Garth has said, but it seems like it's only good for getting into an early grave and alcoholism. I never met a drunker group in my life."

Allison shrugged. “Well, I guess lots of people in dangerous businesses drink a lot. Something to take the edge off.”

“But it always gets out of hand with hunters.”

“Alcohol can get out of hand anytime,” Allison replied with growing confusion. 

“True. I've just heard of the bad things that can happen to hunters, that's all. ”

Allison turned to face Bess, tossing her new dough ball carelessly on the pan. “Why are you saying this to me?”

“Oh, I don’t mean to upset you, Allison. It’s just that you seem smart and Garth said you were an experienced hunter.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” she demanded.

Bess sighed, taking the oatmeal pot off the hot stove element. “Smart, experienced women in the hunting life have to know better than to drink alone in a motel room with any man, much less another hunter,” she said, avoiding looking back at Allison.

Allison gawked at Bess’ audacity. “Oh, I see," she sassed, "I was just asking for it, right?”

 She was fuming now, combing over the details of what she’d told Garth and how he must’ve interpreted it.

“Look, I just mean you have to protect yourself. We all do anything we need to do to protect ourselves, honey.”

Allison could feel a rage welling inside her, choking the air from her lungs.

“Sharing your bed with Sam doesn’t look good, either. _Some_ people will think that you, well, that you aren’t being entirely truthful.”

“Not… truthful…” she breathed out, stunned. “It was one drink, and he was a shapeshifter, you stupid bitch!” she screeched.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked, shoving open the swinging kitchen door.

“Ask _her_!” Allison yelled, sprinting out of the kitchen.

Dean looked at Bess’ offended expression, and immediately turned on his heel after Allison.

“Wait,” he said, catching up with her at the bottom of the stairs, “what was that? _Who_ was that?”

“Forget it,” she said, wiping tears she had tried to avoid.

“That’s not an answer,” he said.

“I just need to get out of here.”

“You seem to always be needing to ‘get out of here.’”

“Don’t start your shit, Dean!" she snarled. "Why is it always my fault? Why am I always doing something wrong?” she added with a sob.

His shoulders dropped at the look of defeat spelled out across her face. He reached out and gripped her arm. “You're right, I'm sorry, forget I said that," he apologized, "just tell me who the fuck that is and what happened in there.”

A creaking upstairs got their attention, and they both looked up. Sam stood just outside the bedroom door. Allison seized the opportunity to get out of talking to Dean, and bounded upstairs. She shoved past Sam, into the bedroom they’d shared.

“What was that about?” Sam asked, closing the bedroom door behind him.

Allison growled and gritted her teeth while jamming her things in her bag. “Bess is a bitch,” she declared, “and Garth is too, even after all these years. I can't believe I trusted him.”

“Why? And who's Bess?”

Allison stopped packing.

“Bess is Garth's new girlfriend that came home this morning, and she said I must lying. She could’ve only got her information from Garth which probably means so does he.”

“Well, she’s wrong, they’re both wrong.”

“I don’t know."

“I do, I know.”

“You weren’t there.”

Sam walked over and stood in front of her. He unavoidably positioned himself in her field of view. She still refused to make eye contact, but his focus on her didn’t waver. 

“I was, Allison. I remember you fainting. I remember you throwing up. I remember your body being in shock. I remember you panicking. I remember you being so confused you didn't even know where we were or what case we were on. You were traumatized. I saw it, and I’m such a selfish dick I didn’t do anything because—because I guess I just couldn't let myself see it. I let it be too fucking easy to just accept the lie that nothing was wrong. I have to live with that, but I know what I saw.”

She stared at his hands moving as he spoke.

"You underestimate my ability to hide things, Sam," she grumbled.  

“Look at me," he implored.  
  
Reluctantly she glanced up with tears in her eyes.  
  
"I don’t care what they think, Allison. And you shouldn’t either. If he thinks that, he’s an asshole, and he’s not your friend. And fuck her. She's nothing to you.”

She hid a small smile, averting her gaze to the window.

He saw the smile she tried to hide and stepped back, letting her continue packing. “We should go home,” he said, "all that matters is you being okay, and you aren't okay here."

“Yeah, let’s go,” she said.

“I’ll be downstairs with Dean.”

“Right behind you,” she replied.

She stuffed the last two things in her bag and threw her bag over her shoulder. Reaching the doorway she stopped, praying Garth wasn't going to be downstairs. She didn’t look up from her feet as she made a quick descent down the stairs.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Garth called, coming out of the kitchen with a plate. “Food’s ready!”

She winced at the sound of his cheerful voice. “I’m gonna go,” she said.

“You should stay for—”

“I’m not staying,” she growled.

Garth put his plate on the dining table and looked between the brothers and Allison. It was terrifying when they all looked angry at the same time.

“What’s going on?” he inquired, thankful a table separated them. 

“Seems like you don’t keep my secrets after all. Thanks for—for hosting me or whatever,” Allison said, turning toward the door.

“Allison! Just wait. What are you talking about?”

“Your doll in there,” she said, pointing towards the kitchen before raising her voice, “who’s too afraid to come out of the fucking kitchen and face me,” she said, then lowering her voice, “apparently thinks I was asking for it. Or lying, I can't even tell which. Now, the only place she could’ve gotten her information is _you_. If you didn't believe me, you should’ve had the balls to tell me yourself instead of letting the Stepford Wife in there do the talking.”

“Wait, what? Where are you getting this? I didn’t tell her anything!” he shouted.

 Garth’s shouting brought Bess to the kitchen doorway. “What’s the fuss?” she asked sweetly.

Allison sneered at her.

“She thinks you said something to her, which isn’t possible because I never told you anything about why she's here.”

“Did you _not_ tell me I wasn’t being ‘entirely truthful?’” Allison shot at Bess. "Did you _not_ say I should've known better?" 

“I’m sorry there must’ve been some kind of misunderstanding. I thought we were just chatting a bit about the hunting business.”

Allison glared at Bess, “You fucking—”

“I heard everything you said, _lady_ ,” Dean intruded, “Allison didn’t misunderstand anything.”

Bess’ expression hardened, and Garth stood by the dining table immobilized.

“Why didn’t you say that before?” Allison whispered beside her to Dean.

He shrugged, his eyes trained on Bess.

“There’s an explanation, but this isn’t what you think, Allison,” Garth said.

“Go on,” she said. 

“It’s just that I talk in my sleep and—”

“Bullshit,” Dean accused, “what is she?”

“W-what?” Bess stuttered.

“You two, you’re the liars,” Dean hurled at Bess and Garth.

“I can explain, Dean,” Garth pleaded, positioning himself between Dean and Bess, “it-it’s a long story, it was an accident, a hunt gone wrong, but Bess saved me…”

“I’m not going to fucking ask you again,” Dean roared.

“Werewolf," Garth answered for her. "But she doesn't hurt people! Bess was born to it, but I was attacked, and she helped me, so I wouldn’t have to die or hurt anyone either.”

“Werewolf?! Allison blurted out. “Huh. Well, would ya look at that, she really is a bitch,” she snorted.

“Stop talking about my wife like that!” Garth bellowed.

 “Wife?!” Allison shrieked. “What _haven’t_ you lied to me about, Garth?” she barked.

 “I haven’t lied to you! I just couldn’t tell you yet, not with everything else going on since you got here.”

“So, how do you explain it, is she just psychic or something?”

“Well… a little, with me. We have this—this bond. It’s pretty typical of… us,” he hesitated to explain.

Allison stared bewildered between Garth and Bess without blinking. She abruptly fixed her eyes on Bess with a glare. “What, did you just say all that to piss me off so you could get all the hunters out of the house? Is that it?”

Bess answered with silence.

“Fuck this, I'm leaving,” Allison announced. She turned and hurried out despite Garth’s pleas for her to stay.

“Take care of this,” Dean hissed at Sam.

Dean was right behind her and followed her to her car, crunching through the fresh snow.

“How’d you figure it out?” Allison asked, throwing her bag in the backseat.

“I don’t know, I took a shot. Hunter instinct.”

“You accused her of being a monster on a hunch?”

“Why not? If she can dish out the accusations, she should be able to take them.”

Allison smirked and nodded in agreement. “I didn’t realize you were awake this morning when I got up,” she said, shutting the car door and leaning against it.

“I wasn’t.”

“But you said you overheard what Bitch said.”

Dean chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

“You lied?”

He fixed his eyes on hers. “Because I believe you when you tell me something happened, even if I wasn’t there,” he said. “Besides, you needed someone to have your back because that was bullshit.”

“You believe me? With no proof?” she questioned. “Just like that?” she added with a snap of her fingers.

“You’re family to me, your word is all I need for proof. If you said it happened, it happened.”

Allison stared at Dean, taken aback by his candor. Tears began to well in her eyes, but she laughed it off. “That means a lot coming from the human polygraph test.”

He grinned with a cocky gleam in his eyes. “Look, I’m going to go grab Sam, he’s probably giving them couples therapy by now. Get a head start and we’ll see you at home, Princess.”

Before he could leave, Allison wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her tight to him, cradling the back of her head in one hand and stroking her back with the other. The tension they possessed dwindled and Allison's anxiety over how Dean might feel about her now lightened up. After a moment, he kissed the top of her head and released his hold on her.

 She held onto his forearm, stopping him from walking away. “What are you going to do about Garth?”

“I don’t know, Allison.”

“Well, he’s _my_ family, and if he says he isn’t hurting anyone, I believe him.” She said. “I don’t know about her though, I don’t trust her.”

“Look, we've had some things come up at home that I need your research help with," Dean said, "but you know we aren’t done with Garth, right?”

She barely acknowledged his question as she cranked her car. 

 


End file.
